A Girl Walks Into a Wedding Page 19

  ‘I think I can do that,’ you say, a slow smile of anticipation starting to break out.

  Cat steps away from you and you find yourself standing stock still and partner-less in the centre of the dance floor. But you’re not alone for long. Holding your eyes, Bruno slowly walks towards you and stretches out his hand. You feel a slight tingle as your palms touch, and then he draws you to him.

  ‘Finally,’ he breathes in your ear.

  ‘Finally,’ you echo, your voice cracking.

  You rest your cheek against his, inhaling his scent, the warmth of his body pressing against yours. Could it be that the very thing you’ve been longing for has been right under your nose all along?

  Then he kisses you, and you know that yes, this was meant to be.

  The End

  You don’t catch the bouquet

  The girls jostle in a tight bunch as the bouquet flies through the air. It takes you only a second to realise that it’s heading straight for Lisa. She has a look of terror on her face, as if she’s about to catch a hand grenade rather than a bunch of white daisies, roses and baby’s-breath laced in satin ribbons.

  Lisa shoots you a pleading look, and without a second thought, you spring into action. You shove her out of the way and step forward to deflect the bouquet – and from there everything happens in slow motion.

  It must look like you were pushing Lisa out of the way so you could catch the bouquet yourself. But you don’t have time to contemplate how bad that must make you look, because you bash heads with another woman, who’s launching her body through the air like an NBA basketball player.

  The pain of the collision is instant and excruciating. Who knew the human head was made of concrete?

  You blink, opening your eyes slowly. You have the worst headache ever. It starts at the base of your skull and embraces your entire head.

  You look up and see swathes of muslin above you – you’re lying on a four-poster bed. The disastrous bouquet toss comes flooding back to you. Then you see the pilot’s face swim into view above yours. Tom’s dad. Jack.

  ‘What happened?’ you whisper.

  ‘You took a tumble in the scrum for the bride’s bouquet, and banged your head. You’re in the wedding suite. Everyone is downstairs seeing the bride and groom off. I said I’d keep an eye on you.’

  ‘Am I okay?’ you husk.

  ‘Yes, the hotel called a doctor to take a look at you, and she says you’ll be fine – you’re just very mildly concussed. No heavy lifting or competitive bouquet-catching for a little while.’

  It’s coming back to you now – you remember a very crisp woman shining a penlight in your eyes and taking your pulse.

  Jack helps you sit up, and stacks some pillows behind your back, then hands you a glass of water. You whimper a little, feeling sorry for yourself. What a way to end the wedding!

  ‘Where does it hurt?’ Jack asks, concern creasing his brow.

  ‘Over here,’ you say, pointing at your forehead.

  Jack leans over you and presses his mouth gently on the spot you indicated.

  ‘And over here,’ you say, touching your eye.

  Jack leans in again, and kisses you delicately on your eyelid.

  ‘And over here,’ you say, beginning to smile as you touch your mouth.

  Jack smiles too, then leans in one more time, kissing you on the lips as carefully as if you were made of porcelain. He manages to be both passionate and gentle, and you close your eyes and surrender to his kiss, enjoying the sensation of his tongue in your mouth, and his arms cradling you. You see stars exploding behind your eyes, and this time it’s nothing to do with a blow to the head.

  The End

  You choose the Justice of the Peace

  You stand at the back of the church while you wait for Jane to arrive, and look down the aisle, appraising the Justice of the Peace. You’re sure Jane will love her. She’s just right for the job – calm in a neat navy-blue suit, with a warm smile.

  Surely after everything that’s happened, nothing more can go wrong – or can it?

  If the wedding ends happily ever after, go to page 325.

  If the wedding doesn’t end happily ever after, go to page 330.

  The wedding ends happily ever after

  It’s been the most perfect wedding imaginable. Everything has gone without a hitch, and Cee Cee is practically purring with pride.

  The guests all turned out in their best finery, with an array of hats that ranged from the magnificent to the hilarious, Aunt Lauren taking pole position with a hot-pink tiger-striped cartwheel adorned with what looked like a large lobster.

  Jane was a vision as she floated down the aisle on her father’s arm, to the accompaniment of a string quartet and a blonde soprano in purple taffeta performing Bach’s ‘Jesu Joy of Man’s Desiring’. Tom almost choked with emotion as she joined him at the altar, the sunlight shining through the stained-glass windows casting jewelled splashes on her exquisite vintage dress.

  Even the little flower girls behaved beautifully, solemnly carrying their baskets of organic rose-petals and earning ‘Aaaaaahs’ from the assembled guests.

  The Justice of the Peace was absolutely the right choice, with her wise words and gentle manner.

  You watched with a lump in your throat as your best friend’s face bloomed into radiance as she joined Tom. Once they were pronounced husband and wife, the choir burst into the Hallelujah Chorus, echoing your own emotions.

  As the newlyweds and the elegantly dressed guests left the church, hundreds of white butterflies were released. It was Cee Cee’s finest hour, as they drifted and fluttered up into the clear blue sky, a symbol of hope and transformation.

  And miracle of miracles, the dressmaker seemed to have let out an extra seam – even though your dress is still tight, at least it’s not a disgrace.

  The reception went without a hitch, and the six-tiered mocha hazelnut cake was the best wedding cake you’d ever tasted. And to wind up her day of triumph, Cee Cee caught the bride’s bouquet.

  Now you’re standing in the driveway, still smiling at the memory of the warm, funny speeches (even Mikey’s best-man speech was just the right mix of humour and affection), waving off Tom and Jane, who decided to go straight off on their honeymoon rather than spend a night in the bridal suite. The lowering sun catches the ripples of the lake, painting it in streaks of gold, and as the happy couple drive away in a silver vintage Roller, the swans take off, trumpeting in salute.

  You sigh wistfully. Your best friend just got married! You sense someone by your side. It’s Bruno, and you realise with a slight shock, as the late sun gilds his features, that up until now you’ve entirely missed how good-looking he really is. He smiles at you, his eyes dark and kind, and takes your hand, his fingers caressing yours. ‘What do you say you and I try out our own happily ever after?’ he asks.

  You’re about to answer when Mikey sidles up to you. ‘How about a drink to toast the happy couple?’

  You glance at Bruno. ‘Why not?’ he says.

  The first thing that hits you is that it’s early morning. The second thing that hits you is that you appear to be in the bridal suite. The third thing that hits you is that there are bodies scattered everywhere. Half-naked bodies.

  You sit up and peer around the room through bleary eyes. Aunt Lauren and Cee Cee are half-hidden under the bed, both dead to the world, clutching empty bottles of Moët.

  Lisa, Tom’s dad and Cat are lying in each other’s arms on the carpet next to the open, empty minibar. The receptionist and the DJ – both wearing bridesmaids’ dresses – are snoring on the balcony, their hands linked.

  And … is that Bruno curled around the TV cabinet? It is. And there’s something protruding from his bottom. Something that looks suspiciously like an Action Man figure wearing scuba gear.

  You swing your legs off the bed and somehow manage to get your balance. Whoa. You peer inside the bathroom and see a man wearing nothing but a motorbike helmet lying in the bath
. You can’t be certain, but it looks like it might be Mikey.

  You wrap yourself in a sheet and stagger into the corridor. It’s littered with empty champagne bottles and streamers, and the half-eaten wedding cake is perched on top of a cleaning trolley, Yodabell the rat happily tucking into it.

  Slowly the night’s events start to come back to you. After you all waved off Jane and Tom, Mikey brought out a couple of bottles of fiery liquor from one of his jaunts in Africa, you all had a shot, and things went downhill from there. There was dancing (at one point, Cee Cee got up on the bridal table to show off her moves), then someone suggested you all do a conga-line into the bridal suite. And then …

  Wow. Did you really … ? And how could … ? And is that even anatomically possible?

  You let yourself into your room and pad towards the shower, smiling to yourself.

  What a night.

  What a wedding.

  Happy endings all round.

  The End

  The wedding doesn’t end happily ever after

  It feels like you’ve been holding your breath from the second Jane walked down the aisle. Cee Cee has out-done herself and the church looks gorgeous. And Jane seems happy with your choice of wedding officiant, you haven’t had a single death glare from either her or Cee Cee. After the disaster with Father Declan, you’re desperate for this to go well.

  ‘ … do you, Tom, take Jane to be your lawfully wedded wife?’ the Justice of the Peace intones in a beautiful low voice.

  Tom holds both of Jane’s hands in his: ‘I do,’ he says.

  One down, one to go. You’re almost home free.

  ‘And Jane, do you take Tom to be your lawfully wedded husband?’

  You’re sure your heart stops beating – if Jane’s cold feet issues resurface, this could all go horribly wrong in a split second.

  ‘I … I … ’ Jane says, tears brimming in her eyes.

  Adrenalin surges through your body.

  ‘I do,’ she says at last. Oh thank God. As the Justice of the Peace utters the timeless phrase, ‘You may kiss the bride’, you finally allow yourself to exhale. Despite some hairy moments, it looks like everything has worked out okay after all.

  But you can’t quite untie the knot in your stomach yet – there’s still the reception to get through.

  After a million photographs, the retinue and guests file into the elaborately decorated function room for the reception. Champagne bottles pop. Waiters troop in bearing plates of hors d’oeuvres. After the main course – salmon and mustard leaf en croute with gratinated baby bok choy – it’s time for the speeches. First Jane’s father gives a tear-jerking speech, and then Tom stands up to toast the bridesmaids. You’re not looking forward to Mikey’s speech, but despite an off-colour joke about a swan and a priest, it’s not as crass as you were expecting. The wedding gods are clearly smiling down on you.

  It’s Jane’s turn. You helped her choose a lovely poem by Emily Dickinson for the occasion, and you’re looking forward to hearing her read it. You give her an encouraging smile. She really does look terribly nervous.

  She clears her throat. ‘I need to begin by saying … that … ’

  Uh-oh. This isn’t what you rehearsed.

  ‘I kissed Mikey!’ she blurts.

  There’s a stunned silence. The blood drains from Tom’s face. Even more blood drains from Mikey’s face. You dig your nails into your palms, hard enough to draw blood.

  ‘Tom … it was an accident,’ Jane sobs. ‘It meant nothing! I swear – you have to believe me!’

  ‘Tom, mate! I swear it really did mean nothing. I was bombed out of my skull,’ Mikey protests, his handsome face wild with panic.

  Tom looks thoughtful for a second, then stands up and punches Mikey, who tumbles off his chair and stays down, clearly out for the count. You’re impressed – who knew Tom had it in him?

  Jane is sobbing in earnest now. ‘Tom, I’m so sorry, it was the biggest mistake of my life. I love you. I want to be with you, always. Please forgive me! You’re my best friend – I had to tell you the truth!’

  You wait, holding your breath, as Tom stands mute for several long seconds. Only the flick of Aunt Lauren’s cigarette lighter breaks the silence in the room.

  ‘Jane … ’ he starts. ‘I love you too.’ He takes her in his arms. ‘I forgive you, I have to. Life without you isn’t worth living.’ As they embrace, the room erupts, everyone cheering and clapping.

  You collapse back in your seat and take a swig of champagne. Another bullet dodged. You notice Mikey is on his feet and edging towards the door, his hand massaging his chin. Good riddance, you think. It feels like everyone – with the exception of Mikey – will get their happily ever after, after all.

  The DJ starts playing the song for the first dance, and Tom and Jane glide into the centre of the room, gazing into each other’s eyes. It’s a ballad, but for some reason there’s a strange backing track. A droning sound – could it be feedback from the speakers? Then you hear bellowing and trumpeting along with the low hum. Heads are starting to swivel as others notice the unusual sound effects.

  The next minute, an enormous bull crashes through the French doors and charges across the room, snorting and bucking as if it’s in Pamplona. On encountering the barriers presented by the dessert buffet, bar and sound decks, it simply ploughs through them all.

  Tom sweeps Jane out of harm’s way, but everyone else is too shocked to move or scream. The noise of falling bottles, cutlery and sound equipment goes on seemingly forever. The DJ rises from the wreckage unharmed but speechless, while the maddened animal tries to leap over the wedding cake, hampered by a tablecloth caught on its horns and roguishly draped over one eye. It makes a dramatic exit via another (closed) window, plunging through it in a shower of glass.

  ‘Blimey, Tom,’ says Bruno into the horrified hush that follows. ‘Dissatisfied patient of yours? Did you accidentally castrate the wrong beast?’

  No-one is hurt, although the cake is missing its top tier, but it’s not over yet. Hot on the heels of the bull are a troupe of swans. They strut into the reception room like storm troopers. For the first time, you realise what angry-looking birds they are, with their mean little boot-button eyes and snaking necks.

  Mikey, who’s hovering at the door, clearly sees this as a chance to salvage his reputation. ‘Garn!’ he says, flapping his hands at them. ‘Get out of here, you jumped-up ducks.’ The leader of the pack (flock seems too mild a word) sizes him up, then slashes wickedly at his kneecap. Mikey goes down – for the second time – with a howl. The swans hiss with agitation and look around for fresh blood. Everyone hastily withdraws behind their chairs, and Domino push their tots, who are squealing with glee rather than distress, under a table.

  The swans waddle through the room, their heads darting from side to side like suspicious prison warders. Several pause to crap lavishly on the carpet before they exit the same way as the bull.

  Meanwhile, the ominous humming in the background has become a furious buzz, and the panic of the bull and the swans is explained when a swarm of bees rockets into the room. By now, people are scrambling for the doors. Fortunately, the bees aren’t interested in human targets – in a great vibrating clump, they head for the cake and settle all over it. In seconds, its pristine white icing turns black as the bees gorge on the sweetness.

  You and Domino scoop up the kids and the rat cage, and join the general stampede for the veranda. The shocked guests are milling around, buzzing almost as much as the bees. Apart from Mikey, who is hobbling away towards the car park, and a few unlucky folk who got random stings, everyone seems to be intact.

  Jane points dramatically at Cee Cee, who is gibbering with horror. ‘This is all your fault!’ she yells. ‘I wanted a chocolate wedding cake, but nooooooo. Too tacky, you said. All the best people are going for honey-and-nougat this season, you said. And now look!’

  Aunt Lauren’s spectacular hat rises cautiously from behind an overturned table. ‘Darling
s,’ she purrs. ‘I’m not surprised the birds and the bees showed up. This is a wedding after all.’

  The End

  You’ve chosen the new-age marriage officiant

  As Jane enters the chapel, she turns and gives you the A-okay sign. You smile back nervously. The new age marriage officiant looks reassuringly ordinary from back here. You were expecting beads and feathers, but he’s in his late forties, wearing dark trousers and one of those floaty white shirts, no doubt spun on a sustainable wood loom. Jane isn’t close enough to notice the ears pierced with large discs and the swirling tattoos creeping out from under both shirt-sleeves, or the small fertility goddess hanging from a leather cord around his neck.

  The organ starts to play and first the Domino kids head down the aisle, then Cee Cee and you, holding your breath so that your breasts don’t pop out of your dress, followed by Jane and her dad. This has to go smoothly, you think, it just has to.

  Jane walks towards Tom, whose face is a picture of happiness, and hope fills your heart. You really do believe they’re going to be okay.

  The ceremony gets underway, and you relax into it. The service is rather lovely in fact, with a few well-chosen poems. You might just get away with it.

  ‘Do you umm … what’s your name again?’ the officiant asks.

  ‘Tom,’ Tom says.

  ‘Ah yes, do you, Tom, take this woman … ’

  ‘Jane,’ Jane says.

  ‘ … Jane, to be your lawful wedded wife?’

  Cee Cee shoots you a filthy look, and you grin at her. Hey, nobody’s perfect.

  ‘You may kiss to seal your pact,’ the officiant says.

  They kiss, and then just when you think it’s all over and everything is going to be okay, the guru launches into one final speech.

  ‘The coming together of two souls is a mystic thing. Two elements unable to live apart fuel the fire of passion together. Like oxygen to a flame.’ And then he pulls out a long stick and a bottle. There’s a pungent smell of paraffin. Before anyone can stop him, he lights both ends of the stick, and they bloom into flames.