Nathalia Buttface and The Totally Embarrassing Bridesmaid Disaster

by Nigel Smith

  “I’ve had some genius ideas about that,” said Dad.

  “It’s not about the entertainment,” said Tiffannee.

  “Let me just tell you anyway,” burbled Dad.

  Nat cringed. Dad was always keen to do the entertainment, anywhere and everywhere they went.

  And it was always a total disaster. From school quiz nights ending in riots to birthday parties ending in casualty, from holidays that landed them in jail to discos that ended with her naked baby botty projected ten metres high, Dad was the WORST entertainer on the planet.

  “Joke-a-oke!” said Dad. Everyone looked blank, “It’s like karaoke, but people stand up and tell great jokes from a screen, rather than sing rubbish songs.”

  “Whose jokes?” said Tiffannee.

  “My jokes,” said Dad.

  “No,” said Hiram, Tiffannee and Nat together.

  “OK, then how about I get my old college band back together, just for your wedding?” said Dad, hopefully. “King Ivor and the Hunnypots — we could do a great set for you, no problem.”

  “Dad, no one liked your band when you were young and thin and had hair,” said Nat.

  Dad just laughed.

  “He can’t resist it,” said Nat, annoyed, “he’ll do anything to get attention, he’s worse than a bride.” She looked at Tiffannee. “No offence,” she added, quickly.

  Darius said nothing, but Nat noticed he was looking at Dad with the weird expression that she knew meant he’d had an idea or else was about to armpit fart the national anthem.

  “Back to me, people,” said Tiffannee, “you know, the bride?”

  “We’re all ears,” said Dad.

  Tiffannee looked pained. “It’s Uncle Ernie,” she said, “I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

  “Did you forget to invite him?” said Dad, “because it’s OK, he’s quite a distant relative, he won’t mind.”

  “No, I did invite him, that’s the problem,” said Tiffannee, awkwardly.

  Even super-confident Hiram looked uncomfortable. “It was MY fault,” he said, “I wanted Tiff to have the biggest and best wedding ever so I invited everyone she knew… without asking her.”

  “Including Uncle Ernie,” said Tiffannee.

  “What’s the problem?” said Nat. She thought Tiffannee looked embarrassed. That’s odd, she thought, it’s usually me looking embarrassed.

  “She wants a PERFECT wedding, not the biggest,” said Hiram, “and she doesn’t think uncle Ernie is, well, the perfect guest.”

  “He’s a long way from perfect,” said Tiffannee, though flushing red and looking a bit uncomfortable for saying it.

  Nat was so shocked she couldn’t speak. She thought everyone in her family was used to having embarrassing relatives.

  “Uncle Ernie is so weird-looking he’ll ruin the photos,” said Tiffannee, squirming a little, “and so full of wind he’ll ruin the magic and romance of the ceremony with trumpet noises and the smell of rotten eggs.”

  “So?” said Nat.

  Tiffannee’s eyes filled with tears. “So Daddy promised me a perfect wedding but he can’t be here right now to make it perfect. He’s still stuck in Texas because there’s this teeny-tiny oil spill and they’re saying it’s his fault.”

  “An oil spill? Who put someone from Dad’s family in charge of an oil well?” said Nat, “you can’t trust a Bumolé with a wedding.”

  The other customers in the tea room stopped chewing and started listening.

  Nat cringed; she hated her embarrassing family surname – and all the terrible nicknames it had earned her – and hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But she carried on anyway.

  “Dad can’t even be trusted with a tin opener. And on that note, have you seen him with a glue gun? Last time he tried to make a model aeroplane he glued a German dive-bomber to his nose and went to casualty.”

  Dad chuckled. Nat glared at him.

  “And you put the plane stickers all over your face. You had swastikas all over your forehead and no-one in the hospital would talk to you. Except that one man and he had some very odd ideas.”

  Tiffannee’s lip wobbled. “At least your dad’s here,” she sobbed. “And your dad would make YOUR wedding day perfect.”

  I doubt that very much indeed, thought Nat.

  Hiram hugged Tiffannee, and Dad put an arm around her too.

  “Watch the dress,” she sniffed, “it’s di Milano.”

  “Sorry,” said Dad, taking his arm away.

  “And you’re the closest thing to my dad I’ve got,” wailed Tiffannee, “which means you’re supposed to be my dad until my dad gets here.”

  Dad couldn’t bear the sight of a crying woman. “What can I do?” he said, “you can’t un-invite Uncle Ernie, there’s a small chance you might look like a terrible person if you do.”

  “I know,” she said, “that’s why she’s got to do it for me.” Tiffannee turned to Nat. “You’re so sweet and clever, you can let him down gently, I’m too upset to talk to him. And you’re my second assistant chief bridesmaid. AND you said you’d help.”

  Nat’s mouth was open in disbelief. She looked at Darius, who had told her to agree to everything the bride wanted. He gave her a quick thumbs-up.

  You’d better have a good plan brewing, she thought.

  “I’d be very glad to help,” she heard herself say, “anything for you.”

  “You’re a darling,” said Tiffannee, “thank you.”

  “That’s settled then,” said Hiram. “Sorry y’all but you gotta fire ’im.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” complained Nat, standing outside Uncle Ernie’s front door later that afternoon. She looked around at his neat and tidy front garden, full of novelty gnomes, and wished she was somewhere else. “Uncle Ernie’s really nice. Everyone likes him. This is going to be horrible.”

  But Darius had said she had to play along with Tiffannee’s wedding plans, even the barmy ones.

  “He likes you,” said Dad. “You can help let him down gently.”

  Dad rang the doorbell. Instead of a bong, it sang a happy little tune.

  “Hello guests, you are welcome, hello guests,” trilled the doorbell, before what sounded like a choir of gnomes chimed in:

  “HELLOOOOO GUESTS!”

  “Coming!” shouted Uncle Ernie from inside. “I’m just painting Tiffannee and Hiram and my hands are sticky.”

  “Are all our relatives a bit loopy, Dad?” asked Nat.

  “Only on your nan’s side,” said Dad. After a minute the door opened and Uncle Ernie was standing there with a big beaming smile which very nearly covered his unusual face. It was round and jolly, like the moon. And like the moon, it was also grey and warty, like it had been battered by meteorites.

  Lovely Uncle Ernie opened the door and gave Nat and Dad a huge welcoming hug before leading them in. There was a smell of fresh paint, and rotten eggs. Uncle Ernie burbled away, unaware of the doom hurtling towards him.

  “Tea and cakes for everyone!” said Uncle Ernie. “Make yourself at home, my home is your home, as you know, I’ll just pop the kettle on.”

  “Can’t stop long,” said Dad, “we just dropped by with some wedding news.”

  “Dad – shush and look,” whispered Nat, tugging at his sleeve.

  “Not now, I’ve got myself ready to drop the bombshell,” said Dad.

  There was a ripping noise from the kitchen.

  “Sorry, sprout and baked bean soup,” shouted Ernie, “I like to experiment.”

  “I think Ernie’s dropping his own bombshells,” Dad went on, but Nat was too worried to find it funny, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from…

  Dad raised his voice. “I reckon you’ll probably think this is good news, it’ll save you a lot of bother and free up a weekend for some fun. On balance. I think you’ll be relieved.”

  “DAD!” insisted Nat. “Shuddup and look at that.”

  She was pointing at something in the middle of the living room. Sta
nding proud were two freshly painted, enormous, bride and groom gnomes!

  “Oooh, do you like them?” said Uncle Ernie, returning and pointing at his wedding masterpiece. “They’re for Tiffannee and Hiram’s wedding.”

  “I’d never have guessed,” said Nat. “I mean, you wouldn’t HAVE to give them to her for the wedding, there’s plenty of other uses for them, like, er, um, lemmee think…”

  “I made them myself out of matchsticks. There’s four hundred hours of work in each of them, but it was worth it.”

  “Was it though?” said Nat, wondering how to let him down gently. “Was it really worth it?”

  “Oh yes,” said Uncle Ernie, coughing as another little explosion popped out behind him. “I know I’m only a distant relative, but I do remember lovely, sweet little Rosie – I mean Tiffannee now isn’t it – before she went abroad. She was so kind and gentle.”

  “People change,” said Nat. “They can change a lot, actually.”

  Uncle Ernie dabbed a tear from his eye. “This wedding has made me feel an important part of the family. Especially as I never had kids of my own, and since my wife left me for the window cleaner I’ve been so lonely.”

  “I thought your windows were looking a bit dirty,” said Dad. Nat kicked him. Hard.

  “I told you I wasn’t very good at this,” whispered Dad, as Uncle Ernie went back into the kitchen to pour the tea. “You say something to him.”

  “Are you nuts?” hissed Nat. “He’s made WEDDING GNOMES. Enormous, horrible, four-hundred-hour wedding gnomes.”

  “He’d probably have made those anyway,” said Dad. “He likes gnomes.”

  “Shut up, Dad. Oh we can’t un-invite him just because he won’t look good in the stupid wedding pictures and he pongs like a rubbish dump in a heatwave. It’s horrid.”

  “You’d better think of something else then,” said Dad wandering off to the loo, “he’s coming back.”

  But Nat couldn’t think of anything and she spent the next few minutes getting more and more uncomfortable as Uncle Ernie burbled on about how much he was looking forward to the wedding.

  Finally, Nat couldn’t stand it any longer. She had to go for it. She cleared her throat. “Thing is, Uncle Ernie…” she began, but never got to finish her sentence because just then a huge shaggy-haired dog bounded into the room and leapt on Uncle Ernie, almost completely smothering him. Uncle Ernie laughed and tickled the hound, who rolled on its back happily, pink tongue lolling out.

  “Hello, Buster, were you asleep, boy?” said Uncle Ernie, now covered in dog hair. “Yes you were, yes you were!”

  The dog woofed happily. “This is my new dog,” he said to Nat, “Buster. He’s a rescue mutt. They said at the pound that he’s got no sense of smell. Can you imagine how terrible that must be for a dog?”

  A sprout-and-baked-bean-flavoured rumble wobbled the sofa.

  “It might not be so bad,” said Nat, through watery eyes.

  “He’s my bestest friend in the whole world now,” cooed uncle Ernie. “I never leave the house without him, not even for ten minutes.”

  A small ray of hope filled Nat’s feverish brain. “No dogs at the wedding,” she blurted out. “Tiffannee is very very allergic. She could swell up and die.”

  “Oh no, that’s terrible for the poor girl!” said Uncle Ernie, trumping in sympathy. “I can’t imagine life without a doggie.”

  “She’s very upset about it,” fibbed Nat, “poor poor Tiffannee. Poor lovely, upset, sweet, kind, wonderful Tiffannee.”

  “I can’t abandon Buster though,” said Uncle Ernie, looking at Nat, damp-eyed at the thought of it. “He’s been abandoned before.”

  “Oh dear dear dear,” said Nat, “what will you do?”

  Uncle Ernie sighed. “It is with a heavy heart and much regret that I will have to forego the pleasure of the nuptuals.”

  “Just to be clear – that does mean you’re not going, right?” said Nat.

  “Don’t see how I can. I’ll write my apologies tonight. Still, how lovely to be asked.”

  Inside, Nat jumped for joy! But then…

  Dad came in, mouthing: Have you told him? at Nat. She smiled what she hoped was a sad smile.

  “Dad, Uncle Ernie’s not coming to the wedding, sadly.”

  “Oh, well done, Nat,” said Dad, relieved. “I knew you could do it.” He patted Uncle Ernie on the shoulder. “Sorry, fancy Tiffannee saying you can’t come just because you won’t look good in the photos. I mean, who looks good in photos? I know I don’t. And as to trouser trumpets, well, she could buy a clothes peg for her nose, couldn’t she?”

  Nat looked at her dad in horror. There was a horrible horrible silence.

  Thirty seconds later, Dad and Nat were driving away at high speed to the sound of gnomes being smashed back to matchsticks.

  “Did you do what your cousin wanted?” said Darius at school on Monday. Nat was visiting him in the corridor outside the Head’s office, where he’d been sent for writing an essay called:

  What were the causes of my bum ache?

  Instead of:

  What were the causes of the first world war?

  His excuse that he ‘must have heard it wrong’ didn’t get him out of the punishment.

  “Yes, I did it, and it was horrible,” said Nat, shuddering at the memory. “There was a massive family row about upsetting Uncle Ernie.

  “I said I didn’t deserve to be a bridesmaid because I’d done the deed, which was pretty clever of me. But then stupid dad stood up for me and so I’m still a flipping fairy.”

  Darius didn’t say anything. He seemed to be deep in thought. He was supposed to be writing “I must not be so very very rude” out a hundred times but instead Nat saw he was working on verse 541 of his epic poem ‘diarrhoea’.

  “Your plan isn’t working, is what I’m saying,” said Nat getting impatient. “I’m still a flipping bridesmaid, in fact now I’m Second Assistant Bridesmaid, and now even more people hate me, not just the other bridesmaids. Do you have a plan yet?”

  “Interesting. If everyone hated you, they wouldn’t want you around, would they?” said Darius. Nat looked at the empty corridor. She guessed Darius must know how that felt.

  “Yeah, but Tiffannee doesn’t hate me – she just promoted me. In her eyes I’m a hero because I broke the bad news to Ernie. On top of that she’s taking me and the other bridesmaids to the funfair on Saturday. Says she’s heard a rumour that things haven’t been PERFECT between us bridesmaids so we need to do some bridesmaid bonding.”

  “Invite me,” said Darius.

  “You said that last time, and look what happened,” said Nat. “You’re supposed to be conjuring up an evil plan, not having a fun time at the funfair,” snapped Nat.

  “Just do it,” he said. He went back to his poem. “Oh, and can you think of a rhyme for ‘splatter’?”

  Darius and Nat met Tiffannee near the entrance to the busy funfair the following weekend.

  Tiffannee had obviously spent AGES in the beauty salon because it was like looking at a shop window dummy. She had PERFECT skin, with blindingly white teeth and white-blonde hair that didn’t move.

  In fact, nothing much on Tiffannee’s face moved, even when she talked.

  “Every time I see her, she looks more perfect and less pretty,” Nat said to Daruis, who just belched, loudly.

  “I’m not sure your choice of breakfast was entirely wise,” said Nat, taking a step away from him. “Cream soda, boiled sweets, mints and chocolate aren’t really any of your five a day.”

  “No kisses, you’ll spoil my make-up!” said Tiffannee, waving Nat away. She smoothed the creases from her smart, bright-white dress.

  “Oh heavens, it’s little Darius,” said Tiffannee, jumping back several feet as the terror of 8H trundled into view.

  Nat had to admit that her friend was looking even more rank than usual.

  Tiffannee looked like an angel, Darius looked like something from the other end of the afterlif
e.

  Tiffannee tore her gaze away from the tiny monster, who was now stuffing a huge puffball of pink candyfloss into his mouth, and grabbed Nat. “Thank you for being such a fab bridesmaid,” she said. “Bella walking out like that after the spa was a total let down, but at least I know after what you did for me with Uncle Ernie I can rely on you. You’re family.”

  Nat looked at Darius and shuffled her feet uncomfortably. A few metres away, the other bridesmaids were gossiping in a huddle. They were next to a large, brightly painted old-fashioned merry-go-round. They all glared at Nat, jealously.

  “Don’t mention it,” Nat stammered, looking nervously at the other bridesmaids. “I mean, really, please don’t keep mentioning it.”

  “This won’t do, this won’t do, you’re all wrong, I can’t work with this!” screeched a woman with a severe short haircut wearing combat trousers, army boots and a black leather jacket. She seemed to be shouting at the bridesmaids, who were now backing away from her in terror.

  “That’s Clara Bunion, my official wedding photographer,” said Tiffannee proudly. “She’s come here to get to know us all. She normally does wars and stuff, but my dad persuaded her to come and do my wedding.”

  “Wars?” said Nat.

  “Yes, between me and you, she’s been suffering from stress a bit so she thought this might be a nice break for her. Just don’t make any loud bangs or come up behind her suddenly, she’s still a bit jumpy. She’s only just back from the front line. ”

  Is everyone in the entire world raving bonkers except me? wondered Nat.

  “Listen to Clara everyone!” shouted Tiffannee turning to the bridesmaids. “She’s a VERY talented photographer. Do as you’re told and nobody gets hurt. Hahaha, just my little joke there.”

  Clara smiled a tight, firm smile. She drew herself up to her full height and addressed the bride and bridesmaids like a general addressing her troops.

  “Now, we want to make these pictures look as natural as possible, so you must do EXACTLY as you’re told.”

  “Where’s your camera?” asked Nat, who was quite interested in taking pictures. She had taken some great selfies, just with her phone, and she fancied getting her hands on a big proper camera.